NARRATOR: Arachnid’s fingers dance over the keyboards as he weaves a story. Her fingers struggle to keep up as she records the symphony in her head.
ARACHNID slams her face into the keyboard after staring at a blank document for an embarrassing amount of time.
A lightbulb flashes into existence above her head as an idea comes to her. She furiously types.
She pummels the backspace bar, beating it bloody, then slams her face into the keyboard again. Random letters appear on the screen.
ARACHNID: Ugh! Why is this so hard?
LAPTOP: I’m sure it’s harder for me than it is for you. What with the beating my keys bloody and all that! (Glares)
ARACHNID: If only I chose to like something I was actually good at. Imagine how convenient it would be!
LAPTOP: And if you like something you were actually good at, you wouldn’t beat my keys bloody anymore! (Glares harder)
ARACHNID: Come on, Laptop, you’ve been with me through it all. Essays, stories, disgusting attempts at poetry… You must have some ideas!
LAPTOP (softening a bit): Well, you could try writing short, random pieces before you get back to the hard one. Just write whatever. Flex those writing muscles! Preferably without beating my keys bloody. Practice makes better, as a wise first-grade teacher once said.
ARACHNID: Whatever? As in anything I can think of? Like a scene where you give me writing advice?
LAPTOP: If you must. (Sighs)
ARACHNID: Aww. I love you, too.